The weather seemed to be reflecting England's mood today, it was dark and gloomy outside, a soft and light shower of rain continuously drizzling down over the land. He was sitting on his bed, stroking the cover of a one of a kind sorcery book-first and last edition-from the early 1600's, its silky smooth surface felt of the finest cloth, and it smelled like it had been on a shelf for years. Such a lovely old book smell, England couldn't believe, or even begin to imagine, what America had gone through to get him this book, but he had done it. It hung in England's heart, the thought that he might never see the annoying wanker again, see his stupid cheesy smile, watch him stuff his face with those god awful fattening hamburgers, hear his obnoxious laughter and voice… England's face contorted in pain.
Tucking the book into his jacket, England lunged off the bed; determination replaced the pain that had been written all over his face. He stormed out of his house, having the idea of exactly where America might be because of the one nation who had been acting stranger than usual at the meetings. Despite what everyone thought, that his magic never worked, England knew the truth, that when he desired something strong enough or focused on it enough, everything worked out according to plan. Taking out a little strand of America's hair from his breast pocket-don't ask XD- England chanted a few words under his breath…and suddenly. He knew exactly where America was being kept.
His face unreadable, England started on his way. Seemed like his Hero needed some rescuing.
America
Somewhere in his conscious mind America heard a loud slam and muttered cursing's far off in the distance, but he was still stuck in this soothing peaceful fog… A few more words were spoken that he couldn't recognize, and then America felt somebody shaking him, the sudden stings of pain snapping him awake and causing him to cry out. "WHAT THE HE-…England?" he asked through all the pain, staring straight into those green orbs, "What the bloody hell has happened to you!" England's familiar tone caused America to smile at him.
He watched as England's face went on this continuous display of emotions, horror, pain, anger, disgust, rage, compassion, and something else that he…just…couldn't…place. "I guess I look that bad huh? Ha! Ha-ha haahh…" America's voice trailed off as he bent over in a coughing fit, wincing as each cough caused more pain throughout his entire being. "Bloody Hell…I've got to get you out of here…" England muttered under his breath carefully helping America down, and out of the room, house, and into a rented car.
"Wh-where are we going?" America asked, practically using up all his remaining strength to say those words, he was limp in the passenger seat. "My house" was all England gave as a reply, as he slammed down on the gas pedal and sped off in that direction, "We have to get you healed…Bloody hell." It seemed as if those two words were the only words he was capable of saying, because America heard them repeated under England's breath the whole drive, especially every time the old British nation glanced over at him.
Okay, this sucked also. But I had to get it off my chest! Sooo…WOOHOO! Yaaay!
Do you like? If not I completely understand! It wasn't…my best :/ I'm better at fluff I promise :D But I've been feeling a bit down lately, so yeah.